


Black Lace

by iluvdanimal



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries, Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Caught in the Rain, F/M, Fluff, Romance, they finally go to the theater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5725756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iluvdanimal/pseuds/iluvdanimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy shares his thoughts and preferences on Lizzie's undergarment selection, and then they share intimacy of more than one kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Lace

In hindsight, the wrap dress had kind of been a fashion disaster, the kind at which Jane would have cringed internally. The color really wasn't right on Lizzie – such an offensive shade of magenta that even her skin knew it was wrong, and colored in embarrassment – and a bit too loose. In her defense, it had been a Christmas gift from her mother, more likely given in the hope that Lizzie would dress a little more feminine, all the better to attract a husband, than in the hope that it would be actually liked by the same daughter.

But when one is a poor grad student living at home, one must wait one's turn to use the laundry facilities, and Lizzie had forgotten to wash the skirt and blouse she'd planned to wear to her appointment with Dr. Gardiner that afternoon. The pink wrap dress was chosen in haste because it was clean and Dr. Gardiner was more likely to be offended by what Lizzie chose to say than by the outfit Lizzie chose to wear.

She didn't quite realize how poor of a choice the wool dress was until she was finished with her meeting, and stepped outside. She had quite a ways to walk to her car, and it was pouring rain. Lizzie, of course, did not have an umbrella with her.

Even running as fast as she could through the puddles, she was soaked by the time she reached her car. Shivering, she turned the engine over and drove as quickly as she could through the rain toward home. Rain was still coming down hard when she got there, and she was so anxious to be inside where it was warm and dry that she didn't notice the sleek black Mercedes parked on the street in front of her house. Any rain that had dried as she drove to the house was replaced when she ran the ten steps from her car to the door.

Lizzie removed her dripping knee-high boots at the door, and set her purse down next to the living room sofa. She could hear Lydia and her mother arguing in the kitchen over what they were making for supper. She poked her head in. “Hey.”

“Hey,” said Lydia, distracted temporarily. “Wow, is it still raining?”

“Yes, all over me,” said Lizzie. “I'm just going to go up to change; I'll be down to help out as soon as I warm up.”

Lydia grinned. It was a mischievous Lydia grin. What was more disconcerting was that Mrs. Bennet was grinning the same grin.

Lizzie was immediately suspicious. “What?”

“Nothing,” drawled Mrs. Bennet. “Nothing at all, dear. Now you just go on up and get some dry clothes on. You'll catch your death!”

“Mom, you know that's not scientifically accurate,” admonished Lizzie.

Lydia snorted. “You don't wonder why I've always called you a nerd, do you?” she asked sincerely.

Lizzie rolled her eyes at both of them. “I'll be right back,” she said.

She padded up the stairs noiselessly with the hem of her wet dress in her hand. As soon as she opened her bedroom door she lifted it over her head; it was off by the time she'd shut the door. She tossed the dress carelessly in the corner where usually, her hamper stood. But the dress didn't hit a hamper. It hit her boyfriend.

Darcy turned, surprised at having been hit in the butt by a wet garment. He could easily see that her surprise and his were equal. He could also see that she was wearing nothing except a pair of yellow panties trimmed with lace, and a plain white bra.

“Lizzie. . . .” was all he said, for a moment. A long moment, during which his eyes drank in every inch of her exposed skin. Lizzie felt completely – as opposed to just _mostly_ naked – and knew that she was blushing.

“Whaaat are you doing in my bedroom?” she finally asked, a little dazed.

He cleared his throat and seemed to collect himself. “I was just changing into something more comfortable,” he said. “Your mother said you wouldn't be home until four-thirty.”

Lizzie swallowed, and wasn't cold any longer. “Well I . . . didn't take as long as . . . just sort of . . . ahead of schedule. And it's raining.”

Silently, he nodded. Then he approached her, and took her hand. She could see his heart thumping in his chest, in the hollow of his throat, and she suddenly wanted to kiss the spot. And then his hands were wrapped around both of hers, and he pulled her in close. He kissed her lips gently and then pulled away. There was an almost reverent look in his eyes.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Lizzie Bennet?”

Her whole body flushed and she tried to smile, but with the look in his eyes – still reverent, trying desperately to hide the sparks of passion her nakedness had evidently stirred – she could not.

Then deliberately and gently, he leaned toward her. His hands found her ribcage and his lips found her throat, and he kissed a path from the hollow there, between her breasts and down to her belly button. After a second's deliberation, he bent lower still, and pressed one more kiss to the spot just below her navel. His fingers toyed with the lace on her panties, dipped just under the hem. Then he worked his way back up to her lips.

Her breaths were deep and purposeful, her eyes closed. His lips hovered next to hers; she hated that he did not kiss them. She knew why, but she hated it. They were expected downstairs.

“I have wanted you for so long,” he said. One hand came up to stroke her throat. “My dear Lizzie.”

She opened her eyes and almost kissed him. “I'm yours,” she whispered. “All yours.”

His eyes, if not his lips, smiled. “Let me take you out this evening.”

“Okay.”

“To the theater,” he said.

Lizzie laughed a little. “Okay,” she said. “Let me see what they have at the Playhouse.”

His eyes gleamed. “No. Not here. In San Francisco.”

“That's at least a six hour drive; there's no time to get there tonight.”

His smile deepened. “Let me handle it,” he replied. “I'll figure something out.”

“What? Time travel?” she asked teasingly.

He kissed her cheek. “Let me handle it,” he repeated, and left her bedroom.

By the time she'd changed and gotten back downstairs, he had everything all worked out. “There isn't a show this evening, unfortunately,” he said, sounding apologetic. “But there is one tomorrow, if you'd like to go.”

“I _would_ like to go,” she replied, “but it's still six hours in the car. Do you really want to do that?”

“We don't have to drive,” he replied, with a glint in his eye. “We'll fly - the pilot has already been engaged, so it's too late to turn me down.” Her eyebrow shot up, but she had no reply, so he forged ahead. “If we leave around nine tomorrow morning we'll have plenty of time for lunch with GiGi, and maybe I can show you around town a little more. And then, at 7:00, we'll go see The Importance of Being Earnest at the Curran.”

Lizzie's eyebrow was stuck in the up position. “With GiGi?”

“GiGi is not invited.”

“Perfect.”

 

* * * * *

 

Later that evening, once dinner had been eaten and Scrabble had been played, Lizzie walked Darcy out to the now-dry driveway to see him off. “I will see you tomorrow morning,” he said, a pleased expression in his eyes.

“You will,” she replied, leaning in for a kiss.

But he hesitated. “Lizzie. . . .” Darcy ran his fingertips across her cheekbone, and then wound them into her hair. “Would you . . . would you mind if I asked you a very . . . _intimate_ question?”

“No,” she replied, “although . . . I might not answer you.”

He nodded. “I assume that when you changed earlier, you changed all of your clothes.”

“That's a pretty safe assumption,” she confirmed.

He moved closer, so that his nose was little more than an inch from hers. His voice dropped. “What color are your panties?”

He asked this without moving his eyes from hers and she supposed the boldness of the question was what made her laugh, and pull him closer. “Blue,” she replied. “Do you like blue?”

He tucked his chin a little tighter into his chest. “You really could have said anything, Lizzie.”

“Do you have a preference?” she asked, her voice low and her cheeks ablaze.

He smiled; it lit his eyes. “Black.” He searched her face, and one corner of his mouth twitched. “Lace.”

Lizzie laughed again and pulled him down for her good-night kiss.

 

* * * * *

 

The next day seemed to soar by, from the moment Darcy picked her up in the morning. The flight – the sumptuousness of the jet, the attentiveness of the flight crew, the incredible views of everything – wowed Lizzie, who tried not to geek out over everything, but she was unsuccessful.

And then Gigi was bubbly, San Francisco was stunning, the Curran was gorgeous and the play charming, and she was standing hand in hand with Darcy in front of the theater waiting for Goodwin, his driver, to pull up and whisk them away.

Lizzie was drunk with the contentment of such a dazzling day, and a little from the wine she'd had at dinner and then intermission. It only charmed her more when he kissed her hand. “What would you like to do next?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

The way he was looking at her, she had little doubt of his own preference. “What do you suggest, Mr. Darcy?”

“Well, if you like, I can engage the pilot to bring you home,” he said. “You'd be able to sleep in your own bed tonight.”

She smiled up at him. “I'd rather sleep in _your_ bed,” she replied.

He kissed her hand again, his cheeks pink, smiling a full-blown smile.

It was dark in the car, which suited both of them just fine, since their eyes were mostly closed anyway. As soon as Goodwin pulled into the garage, Darcy opened the car door and led Lizzie inside.

In what looked to Lizzie like a sitting room, he kissed her. “Welcome,” he said.

“Thank you,” she replied.

“Mr. Darcy,” called the driver, before his employer was too distracted. “Will you need anything further tonight?”

Darcy turned to him and smiled. “No thank you, Goodwin. Good night.”

“Good night, sir.” Goodwin nodded at Lizzie. “Good night, Miss Bennet.”

“Good night,” said Lizzie, who still had Darcy's arm wrapped around her. When he'd gone, Lizzie turned to her date. “He is clearly assuming I do not require a ride home this evening.”

“Goodwin _is_ a cheeky bastard,” he replied. “And also rather astute – he did bring your overnight bag upstairs earlier today.” Lizzie laughingly protested with a gentle jab to the ribs, and he smiled at her. “Would you care for wine?”

“No thank you,” said Lizzie, and she kissed him. “You don't have to get me liquored up; as Mr. Goodwin has already pointed out, I'm a sure thing.”

“What about a tour?” he asked, his eyebrow lifted slightly.

“Yes,” she said, and grabbed his tie, pulling him toward her. “Show me where your bedroom is.” Ever obliging, Darcy guided her back toward the garage door, but turned her to the left and punched a button on the wall.

She laughed. “Of _course_ there's an elevator.”

“The master suite is on the fourth floor. You're welcome to take the stairs, if you prefer,” he offered.

She just laughed again. “Of _course_ there are four floors.”

He led her inside the elevator, still holding her close. “It's a classic San Franciscan townhome,” he explained. “It's been completely remodeled, of course – it's more than a hundred years old.” When the elevator stopped, he led her out.

She wasn't entirely sure what she'd expected, but for some reason it wasn't the understated elegance of the space that met her eyes. It was a perfect balance of traditional and modern architecture and décor; Darcy clearly favored neutral tones, dark wood, and simplicity.

But she wasn't going to dwell on the space for long, not when she had much more interesting things to explore – particularly, the body of the man who'd come up behind her and put his hands on her hips and his lips on her neck. She turned toward him, and his hands slid over her curves, and then up her back as he kissed her, and she knew there was absolutely no reason to hold back.

“Wanna guess what color my panties are?”

The lips nibbling her neck were stopped by a great guffaw, and she felt Darcy's hot breath on her skin as he chuckled. He pulled her hips against his, and raised his head to look into her eyes as he unzipped the black and red cocktail dress she wore. “Black.”

“Correct!” she giggled, and she loosened and then removed his tie with a flourish while he applied his lips to her neck again, finding a favored spot.

He reached into her dress with one hand and helped himself to a handful of her backside, laughing again into her skin as he realized what the fabric was. “Lace.”

“Correct again,” she replied, and captured his lips.

When he broke away, he helped her ease the dress off as she began on the buttons of his dress shirt. “I have a confession,” he said as he helped her.

“What is it?” she asked, pulling the shirt out of the waistband of his slacks.

“Two, actually. Firstly, Lizzie, I apologize for how terribly unromantic this is, but I will not be able to get your bra off.”

Lizzie just laughed and kissed him, and reached around to unhook her bra. She left the rest to him, and focused on his belt. “What's the other one?” she asked as she pulled on the thick leather, her eyes closing as he drug his fingertips over her shoulders to remove the shoulder-straps of the offending garment.

“I kind of hoped you'd be wearing the yellow ones,” he said into her ear.

He was so sincere, she couldn't laugh at him. That didn't mean she had to be entirely serious, either. “I feel like chances are high that you'll see them again.” She reached up and cupped his face with her right hand. “I promise.”

He smiled, and the bra fell between them as their lips met again.

 

* * * * *

 

When she woke in the morning, she was warm and comfortable and did not want to move. It may have been due to the sumptuous bedding – the perfect mattress, the abundant pillows, the bajillion thread count sheets imported directly from Egypt (she assumed). But it was more likely due to the snoring lump next to her.

The snores were soft and dignified, of course, and the lump looked more charming than she would have thought possible with his tousled hair brushing his eyebrows, his face relaxed in slumber. She wished she could always see him this way, without the stress that usually plagued him. She hadn't realized until last night that those stresses ever left him – she simply assumed that they never did. And while she understood that they would likely not depart for long, she would cherish those moments when they did. The first of them had come at the most unlikely of times last night. Their hands and lips were moving over one another, desperately touching each other, finding soft spots and ticklish spots and spots that made gooseflesh.

And then he paused, and looked at her very seriously. “Lizzie. . . . do I need a condom?”

She touched his chin. “No.”

The concern – all of it – fled his eyes, and he smiled so widely and gleefully that she almost laughed. And then she remembered that her bra was off, and realized that his hands were rapidly moving toward her breasts, and all thought escaped her.

It had been, like her day, gleeful and exploratory and charming; gentle and nourishing in turns with being wild and uninhibited. He told her he liked the noises she made; she loved the reverence in all his looks and caresses. As she watched him sleep she put her hand on her own cheek, pink from the memories. Her mouth stung a little from whisker burn, but she wouldn't take back a single kiss.

She laid her lips gently on his forehead and rose to answer nature's call.

When she was finished she purloined Darcy's robe from the back of the bathroom door and wrapped herself in it. It smelled like him, of course, his soap or aftershave caught up in the fine linen weave, and she lingered a moment before going back to the bed.

Darcy was still asleep; she decided not to disturb him by crawling back into it. Instead she looked around the spacious room, realizing in the light of the morning how big and bright it was. The outside wall was all windows, and Lizzie wandered over to them to enjoy the view.

The immediate area was quiet and natural and unexpectedly _residential_. The patio was made of brick – it was old, but in good repair; she could see soot in the fire pit in the center, which meant that it wasn't merely a showpiece. To one side she could see trees and rooftops, hints of flower gardens and the colorful canvas coverings of children's swing sets. It reminded her of her own neighborhood, and she smiled, thinking of Darcy as a little boy here. Did he play on the swing set, before he was forced into so much responsibility? Did he roast marshmallows with GiGi on warm summer nights?

To the left was a spectacular view of downtown San Francisco. She had absolutely no reference point, but figured that the house couldn't be more than a mile from the hustle and bustle of the financial district. In the morning sun the buildings shone like jewels against the cobalt of the sky. She wondered what it would have looked like, had she not been so distracted last night and had asked for that tour.

A smile spread across her face. She could always ask for one, any time now.

She noticed that the wall was not just made up of windows, but a door; she tried the latch, and tiptoed out.

The brick was cold on her feet even though the sun was bright, and it promised to be a warm day. Lizzie sat down on the ledge of the fire pit, carefully avoiding any soot spots. She closed her eyes and breathed the fresh day in deeply.

When she opened her eyes, Darcy was there, looking adorably disheveled in a pair of blue striped cotton pajama pants.

“You found my robe.”

She smirked and tilted her head at him. “I hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all. May I join you?”

“It is _your_ fire pit,” she replied with a giggle, and then patted the brick next to her.

Darcy took her hand, and sat. He kissed it and held it close as she turned to face him; their knees touched. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well,” she replied quietly. “You?”

He made a pleased sound in the back of his throat and scooted closer to her. “I don't think I've slept so well in a long time.” He met her eyes, and she couldn't help leaning in for a kiss.

When he pulled away, he gazed at her so intently that she was caught by a momentary shyness; she blushed and turned to look out over the patio. “You have a beautiful home,” she said. “I love how quiet it is up here, like it's a world away.”

“Would you like a tour, Lizzie?” He pulled her hands both into his, and set them on his legs. “It's beautiful at night, but of course we were . . . distracted.”

She lifted her face back to his again, and smiled. “Next time I come,” she promised. “Maybe we won't be so . . . distracted.”

This time he stole the kiss, and pulled her closer to him. She leaned over to trail her lips from his mouth, across his jaw, and to his ear, but gave a startled gasp as something wiggled beneath her.

“Oh!” She immediately stood, and brushed off the back of her borrowed robe, looking down at the bricks that lined the ledge of the fire pit.

Darcy merely chuckled. “Don't worry, Lizzie – it's just a loose brick.” He pulled her into his lap, and picked up the brick to demonstrate. “I've been . . . reluctant to replace it.”

She looked down into his face, curious about why he'd have such misgivings over a brick. “Why?”

Darcy set the brick back down in its place, touching a smooth divot on one of its ends idly, almost affectionately. He swallowed. “My dad . . . used to ash his cigars on this spot.” He let out a puff of a laugh, and tilted his head. “It's the only place my mom ever let him smoke.”

Lizzie watched him fingering the stone delicately. After everything they had shared in the last twelve hours, it was possible that this innocuous remark was the most intimate. She knew he'd probably never told anyone else that. She reached out to caress his hand; he withdrew his fingers from the darkened patch of brick gently and she brought them to her lips for a kiss. She rose from his lap and sat back down on the ledge, with the loose brick between them, but didn't relinquish his hand. “Will you tell me about him?” she asked.

He lifted his face up to her, perfectly composed, but in his clear blue eyes she could see the intense emotion that always lurked just underneath. With his left hand he reached out and tucked a strand of her flyaway hair behind her ear. “Yes,” was his whispered promise.

“About your mom, too?”

“Yes,” he repeated. “They were good people, Lizzie.”

She smiled a little. “I have no doubt.”

“I can easily imagine that there was a point at which you _did_ doubt,” he said, holding her gaze. “They taught me what was right, but I never learned to control my temper. I was an only child for so long . . . I think they spoiled me out of gratitude, honestly. And they knew one day I would have everything, literally, and wanted to make sure I valued it. I do; I always have. But I learned to value little else. Until I met you.” His gaze was too intense for her to be able to formulate any kind of reply. “Elizabeth . . . you humbled me. That day, at Collins and Collins, when I came to you, I was congratulating myself for overlooking every perceived flaw of yours while giving no thought to what my own were. It never even entered my head that I was not good enough for you.”

Lizzie was captivated by his frankness; with everything so new between them, she didn't want to ask too much, but she did want to encourage him. “That day,” she asked, hesitatingly, “did you assume that I'd just . . . accept you?”

“I did,” he said, and let the admission settle between them. “I know how vain that is . . . I'm not proud of it.”

“My reaction wasn't much better. After everything I said to your face, and in my videos – you must have hated me.”

Darcy tilted his head. “Hate you? No. I was angry, I admit, but that took a proper direction.”

“I'm almost afraid to ask . . . what you felt when you saw my application to shadow Pemberley.”

“Surprise only, at first,” he said. “And then I couldn't let myself feel anything; it was too dangerous. I planned to be away as much as possible, but not just for myself. I couldn't stand to be the cause of any further discomfort you felt.”

She smiled. “And then GiGi almost literally threw you into a room with me.”

He grinned a little in return, raising one hand to caress her cheek. “GiGi's always been a blessing,” he said.

“I never expected you to show me any kind of attention while I was there. Honestly – I assumed you would avoid me like the plague and it sounds like maybe you tried.” She smiled a little, and his cheeks flushed. “So you surprised me, too.”

“Once I gave the situation some thought, I must tell you, I was glad. I knew that it was an opportunity to show you that I didn't resent you. I hoped to gain your forgiveness and show you that I had listened to you, and I was grateful for that.” Gently he moved closer to her on the ledge, and lifted a hand to caress her cheek while the opposite arm snaked around her waist to hold her close. Her arms wound themselves around his neck. “How soon any other wishes resurfaced, I can't tell . . . but if I had to venture a guess, I'd say it would've been about the time you were shaking hands with Dr. Gardiner at the marina.”

She chuckled a little and tucked her head onto his shoulder. She enjoyed the warmth of his embrace for a few long minutes, and then one of their stomachs growled.

“Who was that?” she asked, not moving a muscle.

“Me, I think,” he replied. “I didn't eat very much at dinner. There was a pretty girl making eyes at me.”

She laughed into his chest and tightened her arms. “Let's get some food into you, then,” she said, and kissed his collar bone before she straightened, and pulled him back into the house.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
